August 31, 2004
and the morning after...
he woke up still clutching his bottle of bacardi rum.
i must have dozed off. it had been 8 hours ago that he reached home. as he lumbered out of the bedroom door in the limbo of his hangover, vestiges of the night before- spread thin, porous- materialised within his mind.
he looked at the wound on his arm.
8 1/2 hrs ago
'are you drunk?'
'ha are you kidding? like a chimney!'
and that was her cue. 'come, let me take you home.'
'heh heh your mine or place?'
she was driving her Murciélago that night. you know, to impress. they made their way to the members' car park, which was an exclusive and well-kept expanse. amidst the row of Continentals and Modenas and Phantoms, rested her stunning yellow sportscar. she grabbed him by the elbow and whispered into his ear,
'what do you want me to be?'
'huh?'
'anything at all. just say it. what do you want me to be?' she nibbled on his ear lobe as the last few words left her lips.
'i want you to be blind, i want you to be a masochist, and i want you to be japanese.'
she smiled, as if he had said what she wanted to hear. 'come then,' she dragged him towards the Murciélago.
'when shall i start?' she asked him as they got out of the car.
'when we're upstairs.' the awkwardness of her manner seemed to be sobering him up a bit. but his world was still spinning.
she smiled again.
as they reached the top of the stairs, she pushed him against the wall and took out a black strip of satin and started tying it over her eyes. a minute had passed when he finally realised what she was doing. he leaned towards her, and instinctively she met his lips. it wasn't meant to be passionate, for he bit deep into her lips. tongues interlocked as he tasted her blood.
'mm, again...'
he bit her lower lip again so hard that he cringed. he tasted more blood, and so did she. she moaned in gratification, so he continued drawing blood from her lips. with each bite she quivered, and with each bite he grew with desire for her blood.
he ripped off her satin blindfolds.
'you're not blind!' he declared with burning rage. she weakened with pleasure at what she heard. hesitating for only a fleeting moment, he smote her with his fist. she collapsed to the floor, panting hard. she stared at him as if requesting for something she couldn't say. he grabbed the foot that was closer to him and pulled off her stiletto-heeled shoe, smashing the pointed phallic object into her eye. an intense burning sensation ripped through her brain and she screamed. unmoved, he jabbed the stiletto-heel into her other eye.
'ha, now you really are blind.'
'i've never done this before, but i'm glad i'm doing it,' she said after calming herself down.
he tore her crimson toga top down and threw his face at her breasts, running his tongue around her nipples. she was growing wild with anticipation, and rhythmically thrust her chest out. he withdrew abruptly and pinched her hard on her nipples. she wouldn't give in, and instead begged for more. he moved his mouth over them and chewed on them. when they were severed he spat them out one by one. he stared at her imperfect beauty and marvelled at what he had done.
she smiled back at him.
'i have a machete in the balcony, honey.'
'go get it for me.'
she was eager to comply as she fumbled out of the bed. she reached her hands out in an attempt to feel her way to the balcony, blood stubbornly flowing down her body. seeing that she was heading straight for a wall, he stormed towards her and kicked her in her back.
'the balcony, bitch! go to the balcony!' he yelled at her. she knew that she always rose to meet challenges, so his intervention made her happy.
'i've got the machete!' she exclaimed like a fisherman who'd just made the biggest catch in his life. she lay it on the bed for him, and then lay herself next to the machete.
'you know why i said japanese?' he asked.
'no. why?'
'ever heard of kamikaze pilots? the fuckers who gave their lives to bomb us in the war? the japanese have a strong culture of sacrificial behaviour, which came about with the emergence of the samurais. to them nothing was bigger than suicide, for suicide was seen as the ultimate self-sacrifice. society praises and encourages those who sacrifice because it prevents the rest of us from needing to sacrifice. the ultimate sacrifice- a blood sacrifice- was seen as a recognition of shame and wrong-doing. it was the only honourable thing to do to cleanse a person and those involved with him.'
'i see where you're going with this,' she cooed impishly. she took the machete in her right hand and raised it to her throat. 'then tonight never happened, my love,' she said as she poised to slash her neck. he grabbed the bottle of rum on the bedside table and took a swig from it, bracing himself for a morbid swansong.
and only then did it occur to him what was happening. like an alarm had gone off in his head, he suddenly reached over to snatch the blade away. she was more ambitious than he was: her slit-open neck gushed blood, and his vague attempt to stop her was rewarded with a deep gash on his arm.
Yeah, here comes the water
It's come to wash away the sins of you and I
This time you see
Like holy water
It only burns you faster than you'll ever dry
This time with me
1:28 AM
